


The Nero Wolfe Problem

by theredheadinadress



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Parent!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:13:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1287391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredheadinadress/pseuds/theredheadinadress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes is made aware of the existence of his nephew and debates the best course of action to deal with such an unexpected impossible revelation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set just before The Sign of Three which by my calculations should be around 10-11 months after Sherlock's return after the Hiatus. N.B Nero Wolfe is thought to be the child of Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes, conceived during his 'death'.

Mycroft Holmes was rarely surprised, much less stunned by revelations. He’d been in the business long enough to know that the word impossible merely meant improbable. Indeed, he hadn’t been surprised per se when it had been brought to his attention that no less than Irene Adler was alive. He’d been angry at his brother of course, for duping him and for fooling into the unnecessary trap of sentiment, for it was only sentiment that could have caused Sherlock to save the ex-dominatrix. However, his reaction to his re-appearance and apparent closeness to his brother was nothing in comparison to what happened in early August. When Mycroft Holmes took a phone call from his contact that had been paid to follow Ms Adler in her ‘death’ to find out that she had had a child. 

“Whose the father?” Mycroft growled down the phone, already knowing the answer.  
“It’s his,” came the only reply and Mycroft slammed his fist down onto the table.

He had been notified of a woman that his dear brother had been staying with in New York nearly two years ago during his brother’s ‘death’ and it had been over a phone call much like this that it had been revealed that that woman was actually the woman, Irene Adler. It had been a lot easier to take than this new revelation as it had always been a possibility, she had bested him once in faking her death she was capable enough to do it again. Thus her resurrection for the second time, although unlikely was only improbable instead of impossible. It would have taken Sherlock Holmes to fool Mycroft and he had. However, for years Mycroft, much like himself, had believed that his younger brother was asexual, afraid and disinterested in the sentiment and vulnerability of sex. Thus, this revelation had stunned Myrcoft Holmes as he had viewed it as an impossible feat, his brother did not have sex, much less with a woman. Yet, here he was, listening to a man convey the details that Irene Adler had produced a child, a son, in early June. 3 months previously. 

Mycroft ruined the nib of his favourite fountain pen as he pressed too hard on the paper as he listened to his contact explain how he had found Ms Adler after she had disappeared from MI5 surveillance back in February in Moscow. She hadn’t been thought to be pregnant then, nor a threat to the crown. Indeed, Mycroft had ordered only a half hearted search to find her again, thinking that he was doing his young brother, who had clearly shown some sentiment towards her, a favour in letting her go. Evidently that had been a mistake. Irene Adler had produced a son, named Nero, born in Paris, France so close to Britain, in a private facility.“Was it an Adler or a Holmes?” Mycroft asked and his contact responded with ‘Wolfe’- Nero Wolfe was the name cited on both the birth certificate and on the passport Irene had legally applied for at the American embassy. The boy had been born in June, meaning he’d been conceived in September or October of last year, just before Mycroft had flown to rescue his brother. Montenegro was Sherlock’s final destination with Ms Adler before he’d returned to London. The boy had been conceived in Montengro. Mycroft processed the information and relieved pressure from his grip on the fountain pen when it became evident that the pen was now broken. Damn that man. Damn that woman. Mycroft chuckled at the irony, why was it that his clever anti-social asexual little brother had to choose a manipulative blackmailing dominatrix for a lover? 

The contact relayed the last of his information on the woman and her child, Myrcroft’s nephew, including a phone number for the woman herself. He’d have to phone her quickly, as it was evident Irene was conscious of tails and would dispose of her phone and number very soon. After hanging up Mycroft brought a hand to his temple, rubbing it slightly and groaning. Plans of actions swirled around in his head.  
1- Dispose of them both. But no, even Mycroft Holmes wasn’t as cruel as to kill a newborn child, especially not a Holmes child, even if he did have a less than desirable mother.  
2- Dispose of the mother and re-home the child. No, that wouldn’t do either, Sherlock would never forgive him.  
3- Leave them to their own devices. No, Ms Adler might return to her old tricks and use the child as blackmail. Equally, their safety was at stake if he left them and regardless of Irene’s status as a manipulative criminal, her son was a Holmes and needed to be protected even if it meant extending that card to his mother.  
4- Set up new identities and protection for both Nero Wolfe and his mother Irene Adler. Yes. It was not what Myrcoft wanted, he wanted desperately to seek revenge on Ms Adler, however it was the most practical plan to date.

Mycroft sighed at his conclusion and picked up the phone, dialling the number his contact had given him only moments before. It was time to do what Mycroft Holmes did best for his little brother, damage control.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds out about Nero's existence and his particular connection to the infant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set right at the end of The Sign of Three.

Sherlock Holmes left the wedding early. He didn’t want to intrude on the couples dance and now that the case had been solved he was needed anymore. It was a shame, he’d looked forward to the dancing and had hoped that at least the bridesmaid Janine would have danced with him at least once, but she was now otherwise occupied. Instead, Sherlock hailed a cab back into central London and back to Baker Street. 

There’s a light on in the window as Sherlock exits the cab and pays the driver. Intruders, the night was certainly beginning to take a turn for the better. After stealthily climbing the stairs, careful not to make any noise, Sherlock burst into his flat, the door having already been unlocked, ready to attack the intruders. However, nothing could have really prepared Sherlock for the sight in front of him as he opened the door. The Woman was standing there in the middle of the room, rocking a sleeping baby in her arms. A very tiny baby at that.

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock’s voice is icier than he’d intended.  
“Your brother told me not to come you know, but you know how much I like to misbehave.” She’s got a mischievous smile on her face as she says the words. However, it’s weird seeing the woman’s words juxtaposed to the baby in her arms.   
“Mycroft knows?” He asks surprised. He’s referring to her resurrection that he had orchestrated and not the baby.  
“Oh yes, apparently we weren’t quite discreet enough.” Her words have a double meaning that Irene is sure Sherlock picks up on.   
The elephant in the room, or rather the baby in the room, goes untouched a topic initially as she continues to direct indiscreet jibes at him. He’d figure it out soon enough though, she thinks. “I did of course expect you to be longer, it’s not even midnight and you’re the best man.”  
“I left early; my presence was no longer required.”  
“Oh Mr Holmes. I half expected one of the bridesmaids to coerce you into having dinner, that is what usually happens to the best man you know.”  
“There was an attempted murder.” He says bluntly.   
Irene’s eyes glimmered at his words. “How exciting.” He doesn’t tell her he finally found a use for her handcuffs he’d stolen from her back in Paris, ‘they might come in handy’ had been his quip at her when she’d raised an eyebrow as he’d tried to subtly slip them into his pocket.   
“I presume you’ve figured out why I’m here.” Irene states, looking down at the child in her arms.   
“You have a child, either that or you stole it. However that is extremely unlikely as you don’t like children and so you wouldn’t purposely burden yourself with one if you could have helped it. Anyway it has your features.” Sherlock says having studied the bundle in her arms.   
“I didn’t steal him.” Irene confirms.  
“Of course not.” Sherlock pauses. “We both have similar features, dark hair, pale complexions and blue eyes, so its hard to tell whose features this child has, whether its just your genes or a combination of both. However, you wouldn’t be here and you certainly wouldn’t have contacted Mycroft if it wasn’t mine.” Sherlock deduces, scrutinising the woman and the infant. “I wasn’t aware you were pregnant.” He adds as an after thought.   
Irene nods and thats the only confirmation he needs to know that he’s right. He has a child. “Sherlock…“ She starts but she doesn’t know what to say and trails off.

He shakes his head at her and then turns to leave. Irene doesn’t plead with him to turn back, she hadn’t expected him to take the news of fatherhood gracefully. This was just her notifying him, it was something that had to be done. She was hardly going to beg him to stay, she certainly wasn’t like that. However, Sherlock, in his bid to escape from her and her revelation, only makes it halfway down the stairs before he bumps in none other than his brother Mycroft.   
“Going somewhere Sherlock?” The elder Holmes questions, blocking the path of his younger brother.  
“Out.”  
“I take it you took to fatherhood as expected then.” Mycroft sniffed. “I did warn you Ms Adler.” He adds, noticing Irene approaching the door, the baby still clutched in her arms.   
Without a retort and the realisation that Mycroft would not let him pass, Sherlock turns on his heel and pushes past Irene, but is uncharacteristically mindful of the baby and enters the flat once more. He is quickly joined by Irene and Mycroft who chooses to glare at the woman.   
“I told you not to contact him.” Mycroft growls at The Woman.  
“Since when do I play by the rules Mr Holmes.” Irene laughs, covering her emotions perfectly.  
“Since it concerns your child, I thought even you would care more about that than yourself.”   
Irene’s smile fell and anger seethed through her at his words but she didn’t let it show that his words had affected her.  
“I’m surprised Ms Adler it took this long for you to conceive, I’m sure accidents are far more likely in your line of work.” 

They’re referring to Sherlock in front of Sherlock and he stays quiet trying to process his thoughts.   
Death had changed him, he had grown to appreciate having Irene around and before their final departure back in Montenegro he had admitted to himself that he held some sort of sentimental feelings that were more than just an appreciation of her brilliance and more than her sexual appeal. Although he hadn’t seen her in nearly a year and she hadn’t texted him either, he had always presumed that they would meet again occasionally. He had however, not imagined it would be under such circumstances. He didn’t know how to take the information of the baby that was biologically his and so he attempted to process it in the only way he knew how.   
“The boy is no more than two months old, presuming you carried him to term that is.” Irene and Mycroft both turn to look at Sherlock who interrupted their argument. “Thus making the conception date September of last year and presuming that I am the father then he was conceived in Montenegro, anytime between the 18th-21st of that month.”   
Irene doesn’t confirm the information, they all know that he’s right. This isn’t for their benefit, Sherlock’s deductions are all for him; it’s his way of processing the information.   
“You’ve recently come from Paris.” He adds. “The carrier for the child is of a French manufacturer, it’s not special nor expensive enough for you to want to import it from France, making it likely that you bought it there. Your perfume is unique, bought from either one of two brands who only have stores in Paris confirming my suspicions. It’s likely the child was born there too.” He looks up at her, ignoring Mycroft.   
“Oui.” She says without breaking contact with the Detective.   
The moment is broken however when Mycroft coughs. “Well it is apparent that it was a useless bid coming here Ms Adler; it has only reaffirmed what I told you. My brother does not care for the child nor is in any position to play happy families with you.”   
“I did not come here for that, Mr Holmes.” She spat at Mycroft.   
Irene’s about to say more but Sherlock interrupts. He’s suddenly angry, angry at them both but mostly at his elder brother for his unnecessary interference. It shocks all three when Sherlock raises his voice to a tone that Irene is sure will awake the baby.   
“Leave.” He directs the single word to his brother who merely raises an eyebrow. “Leave Mycroft now.”  
There is a moment when Irene is stuck in the cross-fire between the two brothers, there is a verbal sparring match between them before Mycroft leaves in a huff, in accordance with his brothers wishes.   
“Why did you come here?” Sherlock asks as soon as he’s slammed the door in Mycroft’s face.  
“I don’t like to be told what to do.”   
“I am not a father.” Sherlock states simply.  
“I know.” Irene whispered.   
Sherlock moves across the room and sinks into his usual armchair; she moves away from him and places the child in the carrier. She doesn’t approach him, not yet, they need to keep the distance between them.   
“I wish to have no role in this child’s upbringing.” Sherlock is blunt with his words.   
“As you wish.” Irene agrees quietly. It’s not as if she expected anything different anyway.  
“Where are you staying?”  
“Your darling brother wants us to stay in England, he believes that that way he’ll be able to keep a short leash on me. I may have then let slip that it isn’t me that likes being leashed.” She adds with a smirk that shows her teeth; she’s referring to Odessa and their mutual experiment.  
“In London?” He asks, steering the conversation away from reminiscing of their time together.  
“God no. He didn’t want you to know, thus London was totally out of the question. He almost debated sending me to Edinburgh but I told him I couldn’t deal with the weather. He then had a house set up in Bath, but despite its aesthetic beauty, the city is dull and nowhere near as interesting as London. I couldn’t have coped.”  
“There’s your residence in Belgravia.” Sherlock noted.  
“Sold apparently, by the British Government alongside most of my assets that I wasn’t able to transfer before I left London.”   
“It’s in the name of Sigerson Wolfe.”  
Irene looked up at him surprised. “Your alias?”  
“Indeed.” They didn’t speak of the sentiment that such an action in buying her house provoked. “I bought it in case your funds depleted during your death; I didn’t know what type of lifestyle you would wish to lead.”   
Irene didn’t say thank you but nodded in recognition.   
“Do you want me to stay in London?” She asks after a momentary period of silence.   
“Why would I have a preference?” Sherlock responds confused.  “He is your son.” “One that I have already expressed the desire to have no involvement with. Albeit it would be a good experiment as naturally he will be of above-intelligence, however I do not have the time nor the paternal instinct to take a prominent role in his life. I don’t care where you live.”   
“Mycroft won’t like it if I stay in London.” Irene muses.  
“Since when has either of us cared what my elder brother likes.”  
“Oh touché Mr Holmes.” She grins again. “But this conversation is certainly making me feel as if you want me to stay in London.”  
Sherlock doesn’t raise his head at her, instead choosing to stare at the fireplace. “I don’t care.”   
“Hmm.” Irene muses from her position on the arm of John’s chair. “London it is then.”   
“Fine.”   
“Good.”   
“Alias?” Sherlock asks.   
“Your brother gave me one of course, but I’m hardly a Jennifer.” Sherlock scrunches his nose up when she says the name. The Woman could hardly have such a common name as Jennifer, it did not suit her in the slightest. “I’m thinking of returning to Irene Adler. Moriaty’s network is dead- you saw to that and now with the British Government as my protection, I am free to return to my old life.”  
“As a dominatrix?” Sherlock enquires, not that he particularly cares.   
“Perhaps.”   
“Why did you keep it?” He’s referencing to the child of course, moving the conversation on.   
“Sentiment.” She responds simply and he understands.   
There’s a lull in the conversation but its comfortable. He’s taking the knowledge of their son much better than expected, Irene thinks. She waits for a few more minutes but he’s retreated back into his Mind Palace. So without saying anything she leaves the room and heads towards the bathroom. She hasn’t showered in nearly 24 hours and she’s exhausted from Nero; although he’s acting calm and serene now, he’d spent nearly the entire morning and the whole of the flight crying. He’d only stopped when the plane began its decent at Heathrow, much to the annoyance of the passengers on the flight. Luckily, Nero had continued to sleep since then, however this also meant he would also awake very soon. As such, she needed to hurry if she wanted a decent shower. 

She’s in the middle of her shower, using his shampoo and his soap, when Nero starts crying. She can’t hear him over the sound of the shower and continues washing her hair, her exhaustion coming over her. It takes Sherlock over 30 seconds to register the screams; they shake him out of his mind palace and forces him back into reality   
“Irene?” Sherlock calls out but he can hear the shower going and she won’t have heard him.   
He doesn’t know what to do, the child is crying rather loudly for such a small thing and Sherlock is inexperienced with anything younger than 18, let alone an infant. He never wanted to be a father and this situation certainly isn’t exposing a secretly hidden paternal instinct. The baby’s cries continues and Sherlock eases out of his chair and towards the carrier with the baby in it.   
“Irene?” Sherlock yells out again

He doesn’t want to touch the child but he has no choice if Irene isn’t coming. He snaps the buckle off of the baby and lifts him out of the case. He’s never held an infant before; he had never been trusted with anything delicate due to a tendency to see how robust such objects really were. Sherlock remembers back to a book he once read for a case on young children, he was mindful of supporting the head as he lifted the child towards his chest. The baby doesn’t stop crying. Luckily for Sherlock, it is not less than a few seconds later when Irene hears Nero’s cries as she turns the shower off and in an instant she comes hurrying in. Sherlock turns as he hears her enter, her makeup is removed and she’s wrapped in a towel, still dripping wet. Irene bites back a laugh at the sight in front of her, the great consulting detective with a pained expression on his face trying to comfort the infant.   
“It won’t stop crying.”  
“He’s probably hungry.” She says, intent to watch Sherlock squirm by not offering to take the child.   
However, Sherlock moves towards her, invading her personal space in order to force her to take it.   
“You’re going to have to hold him whilst I get changed.” Irene adds, patting the boy’s back gently but not wavering eye contact with Sherlock.   
“I can’t.” He retaliates.   
“You just did.”  
“Irene-“ He’s pleading with her and she’s not heartless enough to force this onto him.  
Without saying a word she walks towards Sherlock’s room, places Nero on the bed, dries off and changes before tending to her son. It was a mistake coming here, he was better off not knowing, she doesn’t know what she was thinking. Sentiment. She lets a tear fall as she changes the boy on Sherlock’s bed. Why did she even decide to keep it? She wasn’t the mothering type and Sherlock without a doubt wasn’t a father. Mycroft was right. Upon a change of nappy and seeing his mother’s face Nero begins to calm a bit, although he’s evidently hungry. She exits the bedroom without bothering to clean up the towels she’s left on the floor and heads towards the kitchen to warm up some milk for the baby. When she does Sherlock is nowhere to be found, his coat is gone and Irene sighs. Nero Wolfe may only have been two months old, but he was already posing a problem to everybody involved.


	3. Chapter 3

He's not a father. He's not paternal. He's selfish, narcissistic, self-absorbed and has a flourishing life as a Detective that leads no room for a baby. The boy back at Baker Street may share the same biological genes as he, but it did not make Sherlock Holmes a father. A biological sperm donor maybe, but nothing more.

It was at times like this that Sherlock needed John the most. John always made sense of emotions and sentiment; but it was a little after 1am and even Sherlock was aware that John and Mary shouldn't be disturbed on their wedding night. Anyway, as much as Sherlock needed John Watson, he doesn't think that he would actually want his advice. John wasn't aware of the fact that  _The Woman_  was alive, not dead and certainly not in Witness Protection in America. He wasn't aware that Sherlock had spent months during his 'death' with  _The Woman_  and that sentiment, as juxtaposed as it was to Sherlock Holmes, had overwhelmed him. Explaining to John the existence of  _The Woman_  and the child meant admitting the sentiment that Sherlock had spent nearly a year trying to suppress. He couldn't do it.

He's full of rage and anger that he knows, however much he doesn't want to admit it, is misdirected at Irene. For, if Ms Adler had arrived at Baker Street that evening alone and the child had only ever been a figment of his imagination he would not be angry. For although he would be slightly annoyed that she was taking an unnecessary risk in coming back to London, he knew she was good enough not to be caught. He wouldn't admit it, he thought, but then again when it came to Irene Adler there was a lot he wouldn't ever admit out loud, but he did miss her. He missed her flirtation and the games they had played. He would have been rather pleased to have her return to him, if only there had been no child. The child changed everything. Sherlock wasn't angry at the child; it hadn't done anything wrong, if anything Sherlock Holmes was angry at himself for succumbing to sentiment in the first place. He was embarrassed that his older brother was aware of how far he'd fallen into the murky depths of emotion, for the child was the perfect example of that, and he was angry at his brother for his unnecessary interference. Why had Irene gone to Mycroft before him? It was likely that Mycroft had been the one to approach Irene instead. Sherlock allowed the rage to consume him at the thought and his arm went out of its own accord and punched the nearest wall.

"All right mate calm down."

Sherlock whirled round, instantly regretting allowing emotions to cloud his judgement, because that wall really hurt his hand. Two drunk men were stumbling behind him and Sherlock sneered at them. He never did see the appeal of becoming incessantly drunk, it made reactions slower, the mind cloudier. That was why drugs had been his thing, it made everything work faster and it had been the perfect fix until Irene had introduced him to sex. He had never been asexual, as his brother Mycroft always had, he had merely repressed those types of desires because they had been an unnecessary hindrance to his work. Sex was messy and took time away from his experiments, it also seemed boring and useless, there was no purpose unless you wanted to have a child. However, Irene had been the one to completely revolutionise the concept of sex. With  _The Woman_  it wasn't messy or useless, and it gave him the similar fix as cocaine had once. With  _The Woman_ , sex was a game, a game that used all of Sherlock's senses and brain power and it was a game that he must win, but never did. He didn't like sex for the same reason as any other man did, such as the drunkards behind him, he liked it for the game, and that had been why he hadn't wanted to have sex since his return. He'd felt no need, no desire to have meaningless sex with just any woman, if he was going to do it, he needed  _The Woman_. With that, he turned on his heel and pushed past the two men, still hopelessly stumbling, leading to an exchange of profanities, and walked back the way he had come, back to Baker Street. The boy was a problem, that evoked so many new emotions and feelings that Sherlock wasn't ready to address, but it was also a problem that Sherlock needed to solve. For there was not a game that Sherlock had ever played, that he didn't at least attempt to win.

* * *

Irene had known, that despite the fact there was a lot to discuss, that Sherlock was unlikely to want to talk about it just yet. It had been a mistake coming here, involving him with the knowledge of the boy and so she chose to haul her bag into Sherlock's room, place the baby carrier on the floor in her line of sight and go to sleep herself. There would be time to talk in the morning, if Sherlock cared to reciprocate with words, if not she'd leave for her old house in Belgravia and never return. It was a pity, the sex had been great, Irene smiled to herself before turning off the side light and plunging the room into darkness.

When he returns to Baker Street, trying to forget about the pounding pain that his hand is causing him, he notices immediately that she is not there. Her bag, the carrier, her and the child are nowhere in the kitchen or the living room. It worries him slightly that he feels some sort out worry at the thought of her leaving just yet, but he forces it down and reclines in his armchair. He won't miss her, he tries to tell himself. He continues to sit there, retreating into his mind palace trying to comprehend the news of the child but she keeps interrupting his thoughts.  _The Woman_ is constantly there, so much so that when the child begins to scream and Irene slips into the kitchen to warm up a bottle, it takes him a few moments to realise that it really is the woman in the flesh and not just his Mind Palace. She doesn't say a word as she mixes the formula and heats it up; grateful that she doesn't have to fish out dead fingers from the microwave first. He watches her wordlessly as she goes about making the bottle as if the moments have been learnt by rote. The child is young, two months old, hasn't developed a stable routine yet and has an irritatingly loud voice. It was lucky that Mrs Hudson was probably passed out, having been too intoxicated from the bar at the wedding. She'd be so far gone that even the child's screams wouldn't rouse her.

Irene doesn't return after she's fed Nero, instead choosing to sleep for a few more hours and to avoid the inevitable conversation with Sherlock. However, the second time that Nero rouses, at around half five in the morning, she takes him into the kitchen with her to fill up the bottle, aware that Sherlock is still wide awake and staring at them both from his chair. His eyes follow her as she bounces the child slightly and yet still warms the milk up with one hand. He doesn't offer to help; he's already made his position on the baby clear. He watches her as she picks up the bottle when it's finished, squirts some on her wrist to check the temperature and wanders over towards him, making him wonder whether she's there to give the child to him, but relaxes when instead Irene settles for sitting in John's child. It's strange but oddly satisfying watching Irene feed the baby, watching as the baby suddenly quietens as the bottle reaches his lips. Irene sighs in exhaustion and he notes the dark circles under her eyes that her makeup had previously concealed. Her hair had lost its shine, likely due to infrequent care and a cheaper conditioner.

"I don't love you." He blurts it out; stunning them both and making her look up from the baby and meet his gaze.

Her lips part slightly into a smirk as she digests the words. "I didn't come because I thought you did." She notes.

"No," Sherlock nods in agreement, embarrassed at his previous words.

"I'll leave soon." She says, moving the conversation along and ignoring the implicit meaning that could easily be deduced from his initial words. "But I'll need a key to my house."

"Of course." He replies, grateful that this gives him the prime opportunity to turn his back to her in order to stand up and fish through both of the draws to find the key to her Belgrave residence. He makes a slight show of emptying them, in order to make sure that she isn't aware that he knows exactly where the key is, right next to her phone in the draw of his desk. He eventually fishes it out and hastily shuts the draw, placing the key on the side table so she knows where it is.

"The house is empty. I sold the rest of the furniture you'd left behind to add to your funds and Mycroft's team took some things when they first heard of your death." Sherlock tells her and Irene nods, retracting the empty bottle from her son's mouth and moves to put him against her shoulder to burp him.

"I presumed they would've have done. A pity, I was a fan of the mahogany piano." She notes with a sad look.

"It'll be empty." Sherlock continues, ignoring her comment, and choosing to omit the fact that he'd actually kept the piano, it had been a truly marvellous creation and would have been a pity to sell it to some antique collector that had no desire ever to play it. "You'll time to buy new furniture." He adds. "It won't get that before tonight..."

"Yes..." She says, trailing off, trying to understand what Sherlock is trying to imply and then it hits her. She smirks and laughs slightly. "Are you inviting me to stay the night Mr Holmes?" She flirts shamelessly, despite the fact that she looks far from sexy at the moment and her words and their innuendo are inappropriately juxtaposed to the baby on her shoulder.

Sherlock's cheeks flush scarlet as she grasps the meaning of his words. "I mean, uhm..."

Irene laughs again as he stumbles slightly over his words but her smile swiftly turns serious. "Sherlock we both know that that is not what either of us wants." She can't play games anymore; she has a child to think about now. "We have a child now and I think it would be best if we leave. It was a mistake coming here, I appreciate you don't want anything to do with us and that's fine." Now that she's opened her mouth she doesn't feel as if she can stop. "When we leave, you won't need to see us ever again."

He doesn't respond, there's nothing left to say, he merely nods and busies himself with some papers on his desk as he watches her get up and retreat into his room to dress. A few minutes later, he watches her discreetly over his laptop screen as she wheels her suitcase in one hand and carries the child in its carrier in another and leaves Baker Street. This is the way it has to be, he thinks. He would have made a horrible father anyway. 


End file.
